How you would strive to cheat him, even as I strove to
hide my real self from Paterson, and still you would strive as I strove after you knew the game was up.
"In heaven's name!" cried the unhappy young man, "if you doubt me, question me; I will answer you." Villefort made a violent effort, and in a tone he strove to
render firm, --
The savage faces that glared upon him, look where he would; the cries of those who thirsted, like wild animals, for his blood; the sight of men pressing forward, and trampling down their fellows, as they strove to reach him, and struck at him above the heads of other men, with axes and with iron bars; all failed to daunt him.
Some cried 'Kill him,' and some (but they were not near enough) strove to trample him to death.
Hammers began to rattle on the walls; and every man strove to reach the prison, and be among the foremost rank.
Sancho was by this time plastered and had lain down, and though he strove to
sleep the pain of his ribs would not let him, while Don Quixote with the pain of his had his eyes as wide open as a hare's.
He could feel the pricking and stinging of the old anger as it strove to
rise up in him, but it strove against love.
From his dark castle the King looked out on the happy flowers, who nodded gayly to him, and in sweet colors strove to tell him of the good little Spirit, who toiled so faithfully below, that they might live.
But the flowers whispered their gratitude, and folded their leaves as if they blessed her; and when she saw the garden filled with loving friends, who strove to cheer and thank her for her care, courage and strength returned; and raising up thick clouds of mist, that hid her from the wondering flowers, alone and trustingly she began her work.
Sadly they watched over every bird and blossom which she had loved, and strove to be like her in kindly words and deeds.
The early Hasidic rabbis strove to
infuse joy and spirit into all expressions of Judaism.
"Just like Olivier and Gielgud strove to
connect the audience with Shakespeare, I strive to connect the listener with the soul of Pete Townshend's music.
The autobiographies reveal a decidedly man's world, where men who had suffered calamity strove to
reclaim their embattled masculinity.
And the one Perrault strove to
protect was one of the most special.
How his mind was always filled with music How he strove and strove from the age of fifteen in an orchard clouded with applebloom to the age of seventy-five in this so small and shabby room strove to
invent a poem that would cry out in the variable textures of Bechet's soprano sax or Webster's tenor soaring growling whispering How he always failed How he toiled as the years came more and more to press upon his will although he nevertheless never permitted himself to give up How he says to himself now Is this a life And how it must be for what else can it be How he would have liked even so something more Or something a little less.